It is Sunday morning here in Biffville (population: sluggish).
Given the late hour (ten o’clock-ish), I’d like to say that I am up, dressed, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and going like a house afire.
But I would be lying.
And I try to never lie, unless the situation calls for it.
And, believe it or not, there are situations that call for a little prevarication. You might remember such hits as, “No, officer, I had no idea this was a school zone” or “Yes Ma’am, that is one good looking baby!“, or “Oh, what a lovely gift! Thank you!”
The Great Biff-town Flood
I have an excuse for feeling sluggish today. It has been raining here since Thursday evening. And not just an ordinary rain. It’s practically been a “cow on the roof” type rain. I lost track of how many inches of rain we’ve received. I’ve had to empty out my rain gauge several times because it was literally overflowing. I’m guessing we’ve received upwards of ten inches of rain since Thursday evening.
And I’m not complaining. I love rain. I am a rain person. Rain brings out the best in me. I think I would be quite at home living in Seattle, except that I am incapable of growing a long gray ponytail and so I do not meet the minimum acceptable requirements for living there.
I think most people in Dallas love rain. We see it so seldom that it is a novelty to us. We live under constant drought conditions and so when it rains it is like a snow day for us. We high-five each other. We just stand at the window and look out at it and say how beautiful it is. It feels like a holiday. We stop feeling guilty for taking showers, for running the water until it gets warm, or setting our washing machine dials on anything other than “Water Saving Mode”. Hell, we’d even rush outside and wash our cars, if that wasn’t a pointless exercise in a downpour. But we might do it anyway, just for the sheer rush of getting to wash our cars without guilt.
Greece is the Word
In other, non-rain-related news, not much is different in my life. The Biffingtons went to the Dallas Greek Festival yesterday. It was a great time in spite of the fact that it threatened rain the entire time we were there. In fact, it was almost always misting or lightly raining. But the organizers of the DGF are not newbies and so everything had an awning over it. In Dallas, you cannot go wrong with awnings. If it is not raining hard enough to build an ark, the sun is blazing down so hot that one will expire without shade.
The food was amazing! I had a gyro that was so good my mouth literally wept for joy. I had stuffed grape leaves. I had some sort of 4-cheese pastry. I had baklava. I drank Greek beer. My taste buds were openly sobbing, thinking they had undergone a Rapture and were now in heaven.
And, honestly, I did not know there were so many Greek people in Dallas. So many beautiful, colorfully-dressed, outgoing people! With my (I think) Irish ancestry, I felt positively translucent in comparison. It was easy to spot the Greek people. Whenever the band would start playing a Greek tune, all of the truly Greek people would start to sway and snap their fingers. Even if they were attending to food preparation or a Greek knicknack booth, you could tell they were about 2 seconds away from breaking out into a full Sirtaki, Hasapiko, or Kalamatianos.
It was a great time! 10/10 would recommend.
This past week it was time for my annual visit to the dermatologist. My family was blessed with the ability to spontaneously grow moles. So, I go in once a year to have my topographical map updated to see if there are any new features that bear looking at. Usually everything is benign and so, after having a pair of ice-cold hands cover every inch of my body, I’m on my way without so much as a “I’ll call you!” or flowers or anything. But such is life.
However, this time I made the mistake of saying I’d like to have some of the more annoyingly placed moles removed after having suffered their existence for most of my life. Hardly were the words out of my mouth before my trigger-happy dermatologist had a can a freeze spray in her hands, a pair of safety goggles on, and was saying, “You might feel a slight stinging sensation”.
On that point, she did not lie.
She zapped about a dozen spots on my back in the space of about 2 minutes.
If you’re wondering what this feels like, it feels like someone stubbing out a lit cigarette on your back. Except, instead of it being hot, it is ice cold. While it did not hurt exactly, neither did it fall into the “Pleasure” category.
And now, several days later, I have entered the itching phase. Itching is good. It means they’re healing properly. But having a dozen places on your body that you desperately want to scratch, but can’t, is frustrating in the highest degree.
Still, it is worth it. Maybe someday I will have the porcelain skin I have always dreamed of. Or perhaps I will be pocked with a topographical map of what looks like freezer burn.
A Dire Warning
I just wanted to announce that I may not be posting much for the next several weeks. Not that I have been posting a lot in the previous few weeks. But I have decided that I need to concentrate on some non-blog writing. I love writing here and posting here and conversing with all my friends, but my non-blog writing has ground to a stop and I need to get back to it.
If it is like most projects I undertake in my life, I will be bored with it in a week or two and will come crawling back here asking you to forgive me.
But I just wanted to give you a heads-up.
Okay, Now it is even later than it was when I started this post and I am still sitting here in my pajamas. My coffee is cold. My bagel is gone. And I need to get up and pretend to accomplish something on this overcast, rainy day.
Have a terrific rest of your weekend!